


Out of the Cold

by retrovertigo (ellameno)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Armchair Therapy, Bromance, Developing Friendships, Existentialism, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friend Crush, Gen, Injury Recovery, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships, Robotics, Trust, Undressing, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26790667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellameno/pseuds/retrovertigo
Summary: Sturges finds a friend in need on his doorstep.
Relationships: Nick Valentine & Sturges
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	Out of the Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bigwinged (Megaptera)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megaptera/gifts).



> bigwinged was a kind enough pal to help me out a while back and for that I repaid the favor with this! I tripled the word count because I got really into to concept, so it took me 3x as long to finish orz
> 
> Prompt: "Sturges doing any of (nursing back to health / comforting in a time of need / synth equivalent of shaving bathing hygiene etc.) for Nick Valentine. Basically Sturges is a nurse/medic but also a friend."

Sturges opened the door, squinting out into the morning light. His eyes widened as he beheld the most unexpected guest.

“Am I dreamin’, or is this Mr. Valentine?” he asked.

“Sorry to wake you at this hour.” Nick looked downright pitiful with his hunched shoulders and dripping clothes. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Well, come in out of the damp,” Sturges beckoned, and Nick followed him inside. “It was pourin’ buckets all night.”

Nick whispered a thank you and attempted to remove his drenched coat. “Damn thing snuck up on me. Talk about insult to injury.”

“Why, you injured?”

The synth sheepishly looked over his shoulder. “Maybe.” He again tried pulling off a sleeve, but he was as stiff as a mannequin. “Can’t bend this sucker anymore — Think I might’ve shorted out.”

“Can I help you escape?” Sturges asked, out of his grogginess and into business mode.

“Please,” Nick sighed. Sturges pulled the coat from his arm and hung it gingerly over a chair.

“Storm got ya good, huh?” he remarked. “Your shirt’s soppin’ too.”

“I didn’t mean to flood your foyer,” Nick groaned. “Can’t even tell what’s what anymore,” he said as he squeezed out his tie. “Think maybe my sensors went busto as well.”

Sturges tossed him a dishrag and Nick mopped at his exposed wires.

“You should peel off that shirt and let your core dry out,” he instructed.

“ _Egh…_ ” Nick couldn’t hide his discomfort, emotional and physical blending together into yet another storm that enveloped him. “You promise you won’t laugh?”

“Laugh? Does a doctor laugh at his patients?”

“Oh, went for a career change, then?”

“Difference between being a repairman and a surgeon is just semantics, you know?”

“Suppose there’s somethin’ to it.” Nick pawed at a button and sighed. “Well, you might wanna get out the scissors, ‘cause I can’t unbutton this with one hand.”

“Lucky for you, I got two hands to spare,” Sturges chuckled. “But I dunno where my readers are, so… excuse me if I fumble like a fella on a first date.”

Nick let out a bashful chuckle. “First, huh? Don’t think I ever moved that fast.”

Sturges flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m also a gentleman.”

Before Nick’s could come up with an acceptable response, his shirt was being wrung out in a basin. He made a futile attempt to cover up his damage, but what could he really do with one equally shredded arm?

“Looks like the rain didn’t agree with your tape neither,” Sturges said, glancing over his shoulder.

Nick noticed it peeling off his body, leaving residue over his synthetic skin. “That’s disgusting,” he whispered to himself.

“Let’s stop the nonsense, detective.” Sturges rifled through a drawer. “And frankly, I’d take this over cleaning and dressing any other sort of wound.”

“Suppose you have a point there,” Nick admitted and Sturges smiled again as he snapped some of the old bits off the roll. “You know, in any other situation, a guy coming at me with duct tape might be a problem.”

“You trust me?” Sturges asked, and the question struck Nick odd. What was there to really trust? But here he was, half naked in an acquaintance’s home, something any other human would rightfully have a qualm about.

“Yeah, I trust you,” Nick shrugged. Only one shoulder went up. “Well I guess if you ever wanted to play doctor on a synth, now’s your chance.”

“Don’t worry, I ain’t one of those _mad scientists_ or nothin’,” Sturges said.

“Hey, don’t speak that way about my ‘parents’,” Nick joked. Sturges circled back around him and Nick was a bit grateful he didn’t have sensation. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him with kindness, and human skin against his own just seemed… blasphemous. “If there’s a hatchet in my back, please let me know,” he said, again trying to break his own tension.

“Why? Did someone come at you with one?”

“With two, actually,” Nick said. “Raider brat hopped up on Jet thought he could take me out through brute force. Most terrifying thing I’ve seen in my life.”

“You? Scared?”

“Bullets sting, but blades still make me a lil squeamish,” he admitted. Sturges made a thoughtful sound. “What — What’s wrong — _Is it bad?”_ Nick asked with concern.

“Nah, nothin’ like that,” Sturges said, voice rumbling in the back of his throat. “It’s just… You sure say things I wouldn’t expect from a machine.”

“Huh? Oh…” Nick became embarrassed. “The moving fast thing was just a joke, I —”

“No, no. I mean… ‘still squeamish’?” he inquired. “You, uh… You been leadin’ a more interesting life than I expected?”

Nick sighed. “Look, I… I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Well, if you ever _do_ , there’s doctor-patient confidentiality,” Sturges replied, and Nick couldn't tell if he was joking. The mechanic continued working and Nick bore his gaze into the ground, tossing the question around in his head. His past life as a pre-war human was information held close to his chest. More like a bandage holding everything in than a dirty secret. But Sturges had a reputation for being impartial in his inter-person relationships. Not a gossip, not a crier, just a friendly hand, always ready to help as he flashed his comforting smile.

“So much of me is just... _reflex_ , I guess.” Nick bit his lip in thought. “If I tell you, I don’t want you to treat me different or nothin’.”

“Never.”

And maybe honesty was easier when you didn’t have to look a guy in the eye.

“I’m uh… good at playing human ‘cause they put a little of it into me,” he said vaguely. “For better or worse.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a Robo-Brain up there,” Sturges whispered in awe.

Nick laughed. “No. Nothin’ _that_ legit. Just some memories, y’know… like they do with the 3’s apparently.” Sturges let out a knowing hum. Maybe too knowing. “But, y’know, I think flesh and blood is all equal no matter if you’re built or born.” Nick continued, covering his tracks in case he wasn’t the only synth in the room.

“And you’re sayin’ you’re not equal?”

“Well, I —”

“Rotate that for me,” Sturges interrupted and Nick remembered why he was here. His shoulder creaked back, making a hideous grinding that he felt through his skull. “There we go.”

Nick remained silent. He heard the tearing of tape and then got a jarring sensation of his nerves flickering on and off. Even if he wanted to talk, he wasn't sure he could unlock his braced jaw. Before he knew it, Sturges slapped him on the back and it sent shock-waves through his body.

“Goddamn,” Nick said.

“I assume you felt that?”

“And how,” he replied, circuits still crackling as they recalibrated themselves. “If _that_ was overstimulating, I’d hate to remember what it’s like to be human.” He chuckled but then grew quiet, realizing he’d outed himself for good.

“Think the rain was the last straw for the tape holdin’ you together in there,” Sturges said as if he didn't hear. “I used my quality stash on ya, so you won’t need as much maintenance.” He returned to Nick’s eyeline with a bottle of alcohol and a rag. “Lemme freshen up these old 'bandages' while I’m at it.”

Nick could only nod and awkwardly watched Sturges’s large fingers peeling away the tape. Swiping away the grime. Cleaning Nick’s neglected body with the care of a man polishing his sports car. He suddenly remembered what it was like to have big hands like that, Nick’s chewed nails stained with ink instead of grease.

He found his voice. “Now you see why I don’t get undressed.”

“No, no, it’s not bad,” Sturges reassured as he realigned synthetic flesh that was falling off at the seams. “We’ll get you all shined up and pretty as a picture. But not too pretty — we don’t want everyone swoonin’.”

Nick stared past Sturges. “I think I spent too much of life hating myself. Back when I was much better looking than this, if you know what I mean,” he added cryptically “We got this idealized expectation for ourselves, not realizing that years down the road we’ll think… ‘Why did that kid beat himself up so much? He was fine the way he was’.” He sighed. “And then you end up on the other side of it all chewed up and spat out. Somethin’ worse to look at, and even worse to touch.”

Sturges straightened up to a more imposing height and began swabbing at Nick’s face with the careful intensity of a museum restorer.

“You know, that reminds me,” he said quietly as he cleaned. “Knew a guy who had a Deathclaw take a chunk out of him and lived to tell the tale. Anyone who went and told him he wasn’t pretty would’ve been missin’ the point.” He grasped Nick’s chin to inspect his work, and Nick looked away, unaccustomed to such eye contact. “To survive like that makes you a fine specimen, so don’t go tellin’ yourself you’re not a fine specimen of a man as well.”

“Sure,” he eked out, unsure what else to say. The sentiment was too flattering, and from Sturges’s always matter-of-fact lips it felt true.

Nick glimpsed himself in the mirror and did a double take. He looked cleaner, younger, more complete. His posture better, either from anxiety or internal tweaking. Not so haphazard in his patched coat and ash covered shirt, and despite being exposed and mechanical he still looked… fine.

“Now, how do you feel?” Sturges asked, meeting eyes with him in the glass.

Nick smiled at their reflections. “Like a new man, doc.”

**Author's Note:**

> Plugging [my main blog](http://television-for-dinner.tumblr.com/tagged/fic+stuff), my [my art/fanworks blog](http://tommytonebender.tumblr.com) where you can check my sidebar for more info about my work. I also have a [Writing Twitter](http://https://twitter.com/retr0vertig0)


End file.
